


An Unlikely Pair

by Blatant_Sxciopathy



Category: Hotline Miami (Video Games), PAYDAY (Video Games)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:40:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29502138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blatant_Sxciopathy/pseuds/Blatant_Sxciopathy
Summary: When Sokol unintentionally causes Jacket to get shot during a heist, he’s willing to put his negative feelings aside and help the man he’s grown to hate.
Kudos: 17





	An Unlikely Pair

“Блядь! you have to stay _still!_ ” 

The Russian’s latex gloves were stained a crimson red, his hands covering the wound lodged into the other heister’s gut and applying pressure every few seconds. Jacket’s chest heaved in response, one hand clawing at the floor and the other tightly digging it’s nails into the fabric of Sokol’s sleeve. Sweat trickled down his forehead, his teeth gritting so tightly that they felt as if they were about to crack. 

A trail of blood led to the small room that Sokol had dragged Jacket into. Had they still been out here, they surely would have been dead. He thought his actions were justified, when he had unknowingly trapped them inside the building. 

“ _Эй! Эй!_ Stay with me!” Sokol’s voice was beginning to crack. He had taken care of cuts and bruises sure, but never a fatal wound like this. Never when someones life was in his hands. He was cracking under the pressure that had been forced onto his shoulders. 

He could easily lie to the others, say that he had never found Jacket until he had already bled out when all he did was just leave him there. No matter how much he hated the psychopath, hated the things he had supposedly done.. he couldn’t just leave him to die. After all, this had only happened because he wanted to tease Jacket. 

That’s what he had learned from observing him during heists. Physically, Jacket seemed like an unstoppable animal— but when distracted, he was vulnerable. _He_ had made him vulnerable. 

Jacket’s weakness was getting caught off guard, and he had unintentionally exploited it. 

Now he was putting his pride and petty feelings aside. Only this once. 

The feeling of the hand that had been finding purchase against his shirt sleeve loosening didn’t go unnoticed by Sokol, who’s tense gaze immediately locked on with Jacket’s pale and unconscious face when his hand had fallen at his side with an abrupt light thump. 

“Просыпайся, черт возьми!” He yelled, now kneeling in the pool of blood that had formed underneath the blonde’s still body. “If you can survive a bullet to the head, you can fucking survive _this!_ ” Sokol wasn’t even sure if it was true. Jacket had never openly talked about himself to the other heisters, everything he knew was purely based on rumours that others had told him.

Panicking, he dove his hands into the unorganised medical bag at his feet and raked for the scalpel, the blade quickly tearing through the fabric of Jacket’s blue shirt and his brown letterman being rolled up from underneath him. 

_Stitch the wound, bandage his stomach._ Those words kept repeating in Sokol’s head in order to keep himself calm, his hands shakily picking up the needle and thread and directing it towards the bullet hole, blood still unendingly pumping out from the wound with each shaky breath Jacket’s body took. 

\- - - 

The stitches were messy, uneven. The Russian wasn’t familiar with stitching wounds, but anything was better than nothing. He was racing against time, nothing would be perfect. At least, that’s what he kept saying to make himself feel better. 

“Хорошо, xорошo..” His hands carefully wrapped numerous layers of bandages around Jacket’s stomach until he was comfortable with the amount of pressure they added against the wound, a heavy sigh leaving him as sweat rolled down his forehead and dripped from his chin. 

Seeing the blonde’s chest slowly rise and fall helped ease his tense posture. Carefully, he draped his suit jacket across his chest to provide some warmth to his body, picking off the latex gloves that were now sticking to his skin from the thick coating of blood. It caused his face to grimace, swiftly discarding them into the dark corners of the cramped room with a scrunch of his nose. 

_“мне жаль.”_ There was slight hesitation in his voice, his words intended for the unconscious blonde but his gaze directed elsewhere. His body was soaked in blood, a grim reminder of the consequences his petty actions could have not only himself; but others. 

For once, Sokol’s hatred was replaced with guilt. 

He hated it.

**Author's Note:**

> This was really only a vent piece, which explains why it’s quite bad. 
> 
> Блядь — Fuck  
> Эй — Hey  
> Просыпайся, черт возьми — Wake the fuck up  
> Хорошо — Okay  
> мне жаль — I’m sorry


End file.
